Greenwood the Great
by Angel Angamaite
Summary: Mirkwood it had been known as, for many years... and one young Elf has found and rediscovered what had been his home... (Pre-LotR Vignette)


Note: Everything is copyright to Professor J. R. R. Tolkien. Cirram, Mirkwood scout, is mine. Lord of the Rings forever!

Greenwood the Great

The forest was silent to spiders who crouched in the branches of the mottled black and deepest green canopy. The forest was silent to the black squirrels as they darted through twisted grey trunks in search of blackened nuts. The forest was silent to the grey moths that hid under leaf and branch. The forest was silent for the creature unknown that crouched in the dark by travelers, waiting for a share in the meat.

The forest was alive, brimming with colour, for the lone Wood-Elf that walked between the trees, mourning the loss of Ilúvatar's Song in each of the ancient trunks. The lithe being was headed for his favorite place in Mirkwood, the small wood he named himself - Greenwood - it was the only place that still deserved the name. Only that tiny piece was left, the only place untouched by the growing shadow from Dol Guldur in the far South. Here the Song was strong and vibrant, something the Elf had not heard in his two millenia of living. Greenwood was but a twenty metre circle beneath a very thin canopy, much enlightened by the sun. It was here that butterflies found their homes, that flower blossomed, that it smelt sweet and new, like you could come and forget your troubles.

That was just was the Elf did, walking in, lifting his face to the kiss of the dappled light above, silver hair shimmering down his back and mirroring his lavender eyes, sparkling like twin amethysts and flecks of sapphires. Yes, he loved this spot. He whispered a tribute to this place, to Ilúvatar and the Valar, then settled gracefully on a small rock underneath a straight, proud oak tree. As he bent to the task of re-fletching one of the arrows in his quiver with his trademarked white and green feathers. This one had gotten mauled by a spider during the rescue of some travelers venturing from near Esgaroth. His lips quirked at the memory, eyes squinting to place another feather just so. Then, he stood, notching the arrow to the fine bows he drew off his back, double-checking it for mistakes as he prepared for a test shot. He shut out all Song during this - he needed to concentrate to shoot. The silver-haired scout was not the best archer, although to be honest he was not terrible. He wasn't as good as, for example...

Wait, what was that? He tilted his head. Yes, it was definately a musical Elven voice. and startlingly close! To preserve this secret spot, he always hid from anyone else who came here - so far he had not had to, but now he did. Without second thought, he jumped, left hand curling around the oak branch as he pulled himself up. Crouching against the rough bark, his expression froze when he saw the green and white fletched arrow sticking out from the grass near the rock. Oh dear. When he had used his right hand to grab the branch, he had inadvertently loosed the arrow. He would be found, as only three different Elves in all Mirkwood used white and green fletched arrows, and the other two were but Elflings. The new Elf had reached the sunlit circle, and the silver-haired Elf's lips parted slightly in shock.

The new Elf had long, golden hair, drifting down to his waist, and sky blue eyes were half-lidded as he raised his arms slightly to the sun. His head tilted back, smooth, unblemished skin graced with the elusive sunlight. Prince Legolas was indeed gifted with the gift of eternal youth, moreso than the rest of the Elves. The silver-haired Elf bowed his head in tribute as the Prince repeated the very same words he had spoken earlier.When he finished his gentle murmur, he noted the arrow. Picking it from the ground with two slender, white fingers, he turned to gaze at the trees, head turned perpendicular to the silver-haired Elf's current position.

This seemed right, somehow. With a flash of silver and periwinkle, the silver-haired Elf was on the ground, then on one knee, both hands on his raised left knee and head bowed to the Prince, hair obsuring his youthful features. Legolas turned his head and right shoulder to face him, small smile gracing his face as the other Elf looked up, lavender eyes locking with the blue of the oceans.

"Your majesty, Prince Legolas, I, Cirram, welcome you to Greenwood the Great."


End file.
